


No Flowers, No Rain

by WesternScribe



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post ADWD, You Decide, after wars, can be book canon, can be show canon, started as PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:21:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27449302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WesternScribe/pseuds/WesternScribe
Summary: The wars are over. There are no kings. And the realm is at peace, for now. Late one night, Brienne receives a visitor.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 8
Kudos: 53





	No Flowers, No Rain

On her last day in King's Landing the air was hot. It was hot enough to rain. The smoldering rubble of the cityscape smoked as she passed, hissing in the downpour. Brienne could see the ruins of the Red Keep in the distance, and as she walked along the main street to reach it, passing destruction and bodies and wailing, her heart was full. As horrible as it was, her spirit sang, for she was on her way to meet _him_. Like they'd discussed. She ignored the charred grotesqueries that were once people. Her eyes didn't see the chunks of meat that were once horses. She would not weep that day. Nothing could fell her that day. Nothing.

But that was until she found Lord Tyrion. She doesn't remember who was more upset. _Crushed_ , he told her. She must have fallen to her knees. They were the same height. _I saw the hand myself_. None of his words made sense.

She doesn't recall much after that, but once the dragons were gone, she made her way home, to her father, leaving before the city streets were free of black ash and anguish. There was a boat ride, she's rather sure of that. Everything melted together until she was again in her bed chamber, until her father found her, until he hugged her, and she cried all of her tears upon his tunic. He rubbed her back. _Go on grieving, as long as you need to_. But he didn't understand. Her father thought she merely lost a friend to the flames, she lost so much _more_ -

 _At last. She was at last with him. And life was grand with him. The moments slipped like sand through her fingers. That day, the sun shone brightly, his smile lit his face and she was in awe._ But the snows are high, how did you? _He shook his head at her confusion_. A Lannister never reveals secrets, my lady.

The flower he picked for her, a single blue rose, was brittle by the time she put it between the pages of her favorite book. Much like her heart, withered and frail beyond belief. A sad dead thing. Brienne didn't think of him anymore after that. She put the book away where she wouldn't see it and suppressed every thought of lions and curls and sharp, laughing green eyes. And her life was easy.

Until it wasn't. Her father saw the man to his ship while she retired to her chamber. He was the second suitor she turned down after her father's urging. _Please daughter, he is a good man from an old house and willing to consider marriage, even with your state_. It mattered not. Once she'd have contemplated appeasing her father, even after leaving, but now, she couldn't touch another man. There was no other man.

The entire ordeal left her agitated. She wanted to slice something through, or in half, but she couldn't. The maester said as much. She tried to ignore it, but soon her blood ran hot with frustration and she worried her lower lip near raw. That's when she gave in.

Brienne barred her door. Her fingers twitched. Her mind grated. Her skin was itching for it. She destroyed the wall she'd built from her misery and trailed her hand down her rounding stomach. She splayed her fingers through the thick hair there, at the junction of her thighs, and thought of Jaime. She thought of his lips, his nose, his eyes. So green, like emeralds. Spreading her legs apart slightly, bending her knees ever so, using the index and middle fingers of her right hand, Brienne found the nub of her pleasure and began to rub herself in a familiar dance. Jaime knew it well.

Her breath hitched as she thought of his scent. She could feel the pressure of his palm gripping her waist, her hip, her thigh. She could feel his fingers, as rough and calloused as her own, mayhaps more so, against her clitoris. Brienne moaned as her arousal grew. She could imagine what he would say.

"Surely you can do better than this."

 _Use your tongue and we'll see_ ; she'd think but would never voice. She was not so bold as to during their trysts.

The dance of her fingers took on a different rhythm and now the moisture from her most private part coated their tips. She swirled the liquid around the swelling bud and rolled her hips in time.

Jaime would use his tongue now, or his lips. His hand would hold her right hip, almost painfully, while he sucked and teased her. Brienne used her other hand, the index finger, perchance the middle, to slip along the line of the lips. A moan escaped her as she plunged a finger in, curling and uncurling slowly. Jaime's tongue would work slowly, licking the walls inside her with delight. He would moan and tell her, "Gods, I bloody love the taste of you."

Brienne moved her hand from her clitoris to the hardened nipple of her right breast. She swiped her thumb across it, squeezed her breast, and pulled the nipple slightly. Jaime would do that while his tongue stayed below.

She added another finger into the folds of herself and rotated her hips with more vigor. Her breath came deeply now, as her other hand found its way back to her clitoris. Moving as Jaime would, her fingers worked in tandem. His tongue inside her, his thumb rubbing circles into the now swollen nub, Brienne couldn't help her moans. She moved her fingers faster, Jaime would need to finish her quickly now, to sate his own growing need.

She could hear his grunts. He would move his attention to her clitoris and suck the nub while he stroked himself. She could smell his scent, his arousal. _She smelled his scent_ -

Brienne's eyes shot open. She definitely smelled Jaime. She didn't stop her movements, _couldn't_ stop. All the same, her eyes scanned her dark room. She was alone. The moonlight illuminated the same stones it did minutes before. The wardrobe was still wooden and silent in the corner. The hearth was cold and unflamed.

Her need was growing, and she couldn't concentrate on such a ridiculous thought any longer.

His nose would brush against her course hair as he sucked and teased her. She moaned again. His stump would rub back and forth against her hip. She applied more pressure to the bud. He would groan as her fingers gripped his hair for dear life. She moaned and heard _another_ -

 _I'm losing my mind._ It was such a small thought in the face of her pleasure. Her fingers touched a lovely spot within her, and she gasped. She heard him chuckle but Brienne didn't open her eyes. He couldn't be there.

_She was so close._

_"I can see you've missed my touch."_

She didn't open her eyes, she couldn't. Her madness could wait.

"...yes." The word spilled from her lips like rain.

Another snort. _"Are you going to come?"_

"Yes!" A hitched breath.

 _"Come Brienne. Come for me."_ It was madness really. She told her broken heart to hush. His breath was in her ear, the warmth of it against her neck and cheek. _"Be a good girl and come."_

Her cry was loud in the stone room. Her legs shook involuntarily, and she seemed to inhale for days. Brienne felt an ecstasy she hadn't felt in months, and it crashed upon her in waves, just as violently, just as wonderfully, as the sea did onto the rocks against the shores of her home.

"Jaime..." she sighed his name in her serenity.

Brienne heard him hum, an amused noise, and remembered herself. She sat up quickly and looked around the room. She was still alone. _How could it be possible?_ His scent was still in the air.

She rushed to light a candle. The space it lit showed no presence but her own. She went to the sconces on the walls and lit each wax candle. Brienne paused at her casement. The window gave way to the mountains and the sea and the moon beyond it. It snowed. Her room was well illuminated by the time she decided it a fool's errand to search for a ghost. She shook her head and smiled at her lunacy. He would laugh to see me now.

There was a snort behind her, _his_ snort. She turned around so quickly she almost fell. _What madness is this?_

"Jaime?!" She said before she could stop herself. Her heart pounded, leaping and plummeting simultaneously.

"Jaime, you can't be here." She addressed the empty room. "You can't be here..." she repeated to herself.

The room was silent and after too long a while, she blew the candles out. _I've gone mad_. Strangely, the thought was a small comfort to her. She returned to her bed and slipped back under the coverlet. She turned to lay on her side and stretched her palm along the empty space beside her. It was warm, indented in a very familiar shape _. How could this be..._

_"Always so stubborn."_

"Jaime." Tears fell and her throat caught. Brienne's hands moved to her womb, his child kicked and rolled inside her. "Jaime." She sobbed.

_Ghosts aren't real. That's impossible._

_"As impossible as white walkers?"_

"Jaime, how are you here?" Her eyes scanned the room again. She was alone, but his scent was in the air, she was certain. She would remember his smell anywhere. "Jaime."

She heard no reply, though his fragrance remained. She looked out the window again. Now it was too cold for flowers, too cold for rain, too cold for joy. _I shall never again know happiness_. The Gods were always cruel to her. They decided now was the time for her to go mad. Her tears were persistent things. She sniffled until she exhausted herself. Brienne fell asleep to the silence of falling snow and moonlight.

For the first time in a long time, she dreamed. There were so many of them that night. She saw him: golden curls and two handed. He kissed her and it felt so very real. She watched him teach a daughter, her daughter, to hold a sword. It was warm, the sun shone brightly, and there was no sorrow. Mercifully, it lasted longer than she dared hope; and after a while, a score of differing adventures, she would even say that she was happy.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I watched Ghost last night and this came to mind. I have zero idea what's been up with me and babies lately. Any who, thanks for reading.


End file.
